We went by mountains and lakes and Gothic towns, rocks, forests, old chateaux, and rivers--the road was wild in those days--till we came to Geneva. Thence Clark went his way to Paris, and I remained alone for a week. I had, it is true, a letter of introduction to a very eminent Presbyterian Swiss clergyman, so I sent it in with my card. His wife came out on the balcony, looked coolly down at me, and concluding, I suppose from my appearance, that I was one of the ungodly, went in and sent out word that her husband was out, and would be gone for an indefinite period, and that she was engaged. The commissionaire who was with me--poor devil!--was dreadfully mortified; but I was not very much astonished, and, indeed, I was treated in much the same manner, or worse, by a colleague of this pious man in Paris, or rather by his wife. I believe that what kept me a week in Geneva was the white wine and trout. At the end of the time I set out to the north, and on the way met with some literary or professional German, who commended to me the "Pfisterer-Zunft" or Bakers' Guild as a cheap and excellent hostelry. And it was curious enough, in all conscience. During the Middle Ages, and down to a very recent period, the _Zunfte_ or trade-guilds in the Swiss cities carried it with a high hand. Even the gentlemen could only obtain rights as citizens by enrolling themselves as the trade of aristocrats. I had heard of the boy who thought he would like to be bound apprentice to the king; in Berne he might have been entered for a lower branch of the business. These guilds had their own local taverns, inns, or _Herbergs_, where travelling colleagues of the calling might lodge at moderate rates, but nobody else. However, as time rolled by, these _Zunfte_ or guild- lodgings were opened to strangers. One of the last which did so was that of the _Pfister_ or bakers (Latin, _pistor_), and this had only been done a few weeks ere I went there. As a literary man whom I met on the ramparts said to me, "That place is still strong in the Middle Age." It was a quaint old building, and to get to my room I had to cross the great guild-hall of the Ancient and Honourable Society of Bakers. There were the portraits of all the Grand Masters of the Order from the fourteenth or fifteenth century on the walls, and the concentrated antique tobacco- smoke of as many ages in the air, which, to a Princeton graduate, was no more than the scent of a rose to a bee.